 |
| Piazza Mazzini, Casale Monferrato |
The heart of every Italian city
is its piazza, and Casale Monferrato, a quaint little town tucked away in
Piedmont where I lived for several months, is no exception. Overlooked by the
imposing figure of the Duomo, Piazza Mazzini fills the classic Italian
stereotype, functioning as a place to meet, talk and watch the world go by.
White-haired men sit on benches by the newspaper stand and discuss politics and
football, teenagers gather in clumps with their bikes and the women strut
around elegantly with their dogs and cigarettes. Even the winter rain, cold and
fog cannot get in the way of the Italian proclivity for outdoor socialising, so
the piazza remains busy throughout the year.
 |
| The Krumiri Rossi biscuit factory |
Casale also happens to be the home of the krumiri biscuit (created in 1878 by the
Rossi family), which is still manufactured in the same tiny factory just off
one corner of the square. Thus the city centre benefits from a near constant
smell of butter, sugar and (though I’m not sure how, as it doesn’t feature in
the biscuit) melted chocolate. It’s like living in a permanent state of Sunday
evening baking.
 |
| Life in the piazza |
Casale is a small and relatively well-off
community; everyone knows everyone else and naturally gossip is rife. Fare la bella figura is essential, and
the piazza’s elegant Bar Savoia is the ideal place to see and be seen, with
tables spilling out on to the piazza. Open all day, this elegant establishment
manages the transition from coffee to prosecco seamlessly, as waiters in
waistcoats and starched white aprons glide from table to table, filling up the
glasses of the well-heeled locals and Milanese tourists that form the
clientele.
Like every bar in Casale, Savoia specialises
in the northern tradition of aperitivo:
a drink (usually Campari) enjoyed after work, accompanied by an assortment of
snacks, from tiny squares of focaccia with salami to vol-au-vent style
pastries, olives and cheese. Like tapas, plates are brought with every new
round of drinks, and aren’t really meant to constitute dinner, though, speaking
from personal experience, this would not be difficult. More than anything, these
dainty amuse-bouches serve as a social tool, intended to stave off hunger so as
to keep the conversation going. Not that anyone in Italy usually has a problem
with that.
 |
| A wagon featuring traditional Sicilian imagery on display at the market |
The piazza also forms the locus
of any city festival or celebration, playing host to a number of specialty
markets. During my stay I saw the space transformed into a Sicilian market,
with characteristic red and yellow flags splashed across the walls and bunting
strung between the shops. Delighted to find something that didn’t close between
the hours of 12 and 3pm, I spent my lunch break winding my way through the
stalls, gazing open mouthed at the vats of olives, almonds and coloured candied
fruit on display, and the biggest loaves of bread I have ever seen. Vendors yelled
incomprehensibly to the crowds, while spearing chunks of unknown cheeses onto knives
and offering them to passers-by. On another occasion, closer to Christmas, a
line of trestle tables was hastily arranged along one side of the piazza, from
which local producers sold rice, torrone, panettone and classic gianduja
chocolates– calling out to the residents who walked arm in arm through town in
their expensive, identical padded coats.
 |
| Slabs of bread and traditional preserves at the Sicilian market |
However, the piazza is at its
most evocative on Sunday evenings in winter, when the characteristic fog of the
Po Valley descends upon Casale, obscuring the landscape and plunging the city
into bone-numbing cold. On these evenings the square is deserted but for a few
night time dawdlers, the huddles of people bundling out of evening mass and
the chestnut sellers. Sheltering under a weathered piece of tarpaulin, their hardened
digits poking out of fingerless gloves, a man and a woman spend the evening scooping
handfuls of scorching chestnuts into paper bags for those brave enough to
venture out, the smoky perfume from the stove adding to the general fug
carpeting the town. It is profoundly eerie watching these vendors and their
customers, their faces in darkness but for the flicker of the light from the
stove, but also somewhat magical. It is an aspect of the city that only winter
brings out, when people find joy in the simple pleasure of a rustling paper bag
filled with soft chestnuts, if only to keep their hands warm.
 |
| The deserted piazza on a rainy Sunday night. |
I appreciate that these images of
the piazza are picturesque and Dolce Vita-ish,
and I hasten to add that Italian life is not all gelato in the sunshine and Vespa rides with devilishly good-looking
men. There are supermarket queues, political scandals, wifi blackouts and
frozen ready meals, teenagers addicted to video games, and a rise in junk food
and obesity, as in all European nations. The economic crisis hit Casale like
any other Italian town, impacting on wages (my colleague Barbara once commented
in passing “soon we will struggle to feed our children”) and causing an
increased fuga dei cervelli (brain
drain), as young graduates flee for America and the UK, hoping to find better
opportunities, or (more likely) a barista job. But despite the upheavals, the
Berlusconi years and the crises, the piazza lives on. All the troubles in the
world could not keep residents from gathering there, drinking their coffee and
setting the world to rights. There are some rituals that social media can never
replace (you can be sure that no one in Bar Savoia is instagramming their morning
cornetto), and for that I am thankful.
Despite everything, the piazza does remain a symbol of la dolce vita – people gathering together, sharing a drink and
something to eat, and celebrating what is good in life. And I think we could
all use a bit more of that.
